Not a Pair, a Person
by TiredGreenEyes
Summary: I'm a shoe Angelina, I came in a pair. And if you loose one shoe, what's the point of keeping the other?" Ang/George pairing COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

A story about Angelina and George and how they may have come together.

Part (1/5)

Chapter 1: The Rude Awakenmanding

* * *

Angelina Johnson appeared like she always did. Silently.

It wasn't a bad trait to have really, especially considering she had once been a dang good Quidditch player. He was willing to bet that that was one of the many things that had made her such a great Chaser to begin with- her ability to appear out of nowhere. He had just been sitting at the desk going over some reports and waiting for the big hand of the clock to reach the twelve when he saw her, standing in the middle of a group of young energetic kids. She stood out like a sore thumb, standing in front of a wall of Weasley Wheezes products, looking thoroughly amused, her hands buried in the pockets of her blue jeans.

George Weasley, owner, proprietor and genius of mischief tried not to be annoyed by her presence. He got up from his desk and turned to the kids in the shop.

"Alright, we're closed now. Thanks for buying here, but times up…"

There was some loud moaning from some of the boys. George felt no pity, he knew they had no money anyway, they'd just been standing there drooling over products for the last hour shamelessly. He threw them some understanding smiles and finally managed to herd them out. Without even looking at her he locked the front door by wand and let out a sigh of relief, enjoying the quiet that settled over the place. Walking behind the desk he glanced at her.

"Should I ask what you're doing here?"

Angelina raised her eyebrows. Reaching out one hand she carefully picked up a long thin box containing the eye blackening telescope.

"I should think it would be obvious George," she said finally. "What reason does one normally enter this shop for?

George didn't feel like guessing games. He knew she wasn't there to buy anything. Still, for the sake of the game, he played along.

"We're closed Ange." He said monotonously. "Even if you are one of my best mates, you could have bought it five minutes ago."

Angelina looked annoyed. "I'm here to see _you_," she emphasized, tossing the box back onto the shelf.

"I just saw you yesterday." George reminded her. "April first, remember? Lovely party… then you, Lee, Katie, and Alicia kidnapped me and took me out for a drink."

It had been a relief too. George had never felt more uncomfortable in his life that morning. He must have wished it wasn't his birthday at least a dozen times as his mother was lighting the candles, tears running down her face. Then a dozen more as the family started to sing Happy birthday and realized in the middle of the song that they would only be singing '_dear George'_ and not '_dear Fred and George'_ this year… and that in fact there would never be a '_Fred and George'_ year ever again.

"I remember," she told him, rolling her eyes. "I'm not here because of that."

George raised his eyebrows.

"I'm here because I need a job."

George forced a laugh. He had become quite good at forced laughs and smiles over the past year. Annoying really, he had always hated people who were fakers and here he was, an expert in the field. Still, it beat the alternative, which was to not smile at all. He looked over at Angelina Johnson, her dark eyes boring holes into him, as if annoyed.

"Look, Verity or whatever her name was doesn't work here anymore. You can't manage a shop this popular all by yourself. You need someone to help out and I need a job. Seems like a fair trade."

It was true. Things were absolutely crazy without any help from anyone. George had been toying with the idea of asking Ron to come help him for a while, but something kept holding him back. He knew he'd probably ask his brother someday but there seemed to be something in the back of his mind saying, _'Not yet, not yet…'_

Anyway, he needed the work. Sure it was overwhelming and he lost far too much sleep over it, but it kept him sane and gave him an excuse to leave early from family gatherings, or to avoid them entirely. _'Sorry, work.' 'Duty calls, Mum… I'll see you at next month…'_ Ex cetera.

Besides, what would he do without it? There would be too much time to think.

"If I really wanted help, I'd hang up a '_help wanted'_ sign Ang'." George informed her, walking to the window and flipping the sign from _open_ to _Closed_. "Thanks for inviting yourself and all, but no thanks. I'm managing quite well."

Angelina crossed her arms and snorted. "Yeah, you're managing fine," she said, tossing her head and making her braid of thousands of little cornrows flop over her shoulder. "But wouldn't you like to enjoy it for once? You know, you used to like having the shop too."

George blinked. He was glad his back was turned towards her so she'd have no idea of how she'd managed to hit the nail right on the head. Had she known how many times that he had almost thrown in the towel, almost quit it all? Every time he'd found a reason to quit, he'd found a reason to stay. He needed something to keep him occupied. His family would think he'd fallen off the deep end. It was Fred's shop…

Yes, it was Fred's shop. If the shop died then Fred would die again, it was as simple as that.

Yet sometimes he couldn't help it. He would stand up in his room, surrounded by parchment, cauldrons, unfinished products and scream in his mind, _"he's already dead! He'd dead, he's dead and nothing will change it so why bother?!"_

George spoke slowly, keeping his voice light. "I'm not sure what you mean Angelina." He lied smoothly. "But I know enough about you to know you won't give up until I show you you're wrong. I'll try to find something for you to do tomorrow morning. Shop opens at eight."

"Good," said Angelina smoothly. "I expect that my salary will be excellent... or at least suffient for paying the rent." She smiled one of her mysterious smiles at his back, or more appropriately, at his refection of his face in the dark glass of the store window. Then, like smoke, she disappeared.

George turned to look at the spot she had just been standing, mere seconds before.

_'Someday I'll have to ask her how she apparates without making a sound,'_ he decided. Pointing his wands at the lamps, he turned down the lights and went up the stairs.

* * *

And thus it begins...

I realize there are a lot of Fred/Angelina fans who were disappointed that George ended up marrying her. I've always liked George a tad more though... so I was really happy that he'd at least gotten married to someone who knew Fred and would have therefore understood his pain.

R&R if you please... and if you don't please. :)


	2. Chapter 2

I'm slightly confused at this... but like seven people have either made this a favorite story or put it on their alert list... but that doesn't explain why only two of those people left reviews...

Thank you two for making my week!

* * *

Chapter 2

Uncomfortable in a Comfortable sort of way…

* * *

"Angelina…er… I hate to ask this… what the dill happened to your head?"

Angelina huffed at him, trying to look dignified and failing on account that half her hair was sticking straight out of her head, as though she'd been struck by lightning.

It had been almost a week since she had started working here. A week… and somehow, in a way George didn't understand, business was better than it had been in a year. He had never thought of her as the shopkeeper-indoorsy type, but somehow she had added something to the room, coaxed a few new dashing displays of products and bewitched the windows to flash different advertisements throughout the day. She had even tackled some of the jobs he'd been putting off for months; such as the cleaning of the potions cabinets and the answering of owls and howlers. (Yes, the store did receive quite a few of them from annoyed parents who didn't want their kids buying mischief. It was quite a good thing that Angelina was answering them now because George always wrote responses like, "_Then don't give them money. Problem solved_.")

Really he shouldn't have been surprised about Angelina. She did her job like she did everything, a full and total effort, with no exceptions. She was often seen, walking around the shop with a pencil sticking out her mouth, a clipboard in her hand, mumbling, "Go to Pawn and Pokes and get another case of gobroots… get something healthy and green for George to eat because he'd probably been living on pumpkin juice and cauldron cakes like the idiotic male he is…"

She would murmur that part a little bit louder with a serious expression and twitching lips. He would smirk back at her and point out that it was better than living on Puking Pastels and Nose Bleed Nougats… and she would laugh.

Today she had left for her lunch break looking completely normal and come back with half of her cornrows undone. The dark hair that had been clamped down for so long seemed to be rebelling against her- in any case she looked absolutely ridiculous, like her hair had literally exploded from her head.

"I decided that I was tired of having it braided, so I started to take it out. There were too many to take out all at once so I took out half. I'll take out the rest when I have time." She explained, turning to the cash register as a ten year old plunked some change on the table and began counting out the price. George hid his smile.

"I see…" he said, solemnly. Then he went back to his work, handing out samples, cleaning up spills and answering questions about bargains and sales events. As the day passed, he noticed that every time he looked at her she seemed to be undoing another braid as she tallied up prices, and the fro seemed to grow larger and larger.

Finally it was time to close shop. As the last little kid took his box of mischief, he looked up at her, his expression confused.

"Hey Miss, can I ask you something?"

Angelina smiled kindly at him. She'd always been good with the first years at their school. She had a surprising amount of compassion for their timidness (the same timidness that George and Fred had always taken advantage of).

"Sure hun, what is it?" she asked cheerfully.

The boy looked up at her with wide eyes. "Was your hair normal before you started working here?"

George couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. He laughed so hard he could feel tears come to his eyes. Holding his aching side he leaned up against the wall, still hooting, his entire body shaking from laughter.

Later he realized that it was the first time he'd really laughed in almost a year.

* * *

"George, you are such a twit!"

Angelina was standing at the top of the stairs, looking at his flat in utter dismay. George, who couldn't even see why she was up here in the _first_ place, (and was slightly annoyed that she would barge into his personal space) glared at her.

"Any particular reason I'm a twit or was I just lucky enough to be born that way?"

She was wearing that weird muggle clothing again that she always did- the strange t-shirts with weird advertisements for things like soap and cheetos (whatever _they_ were) across her chest. Right now his attentions were focused on her eyes, which her rolling in her head as she made a huge exaggerated step over a pile of dirty robes.

"Pul-leze," she said dryly. "Are you inventing a new product made out of mold? Because it looks like you're trying to recreate the ecosystem up here."

George had had just about enough of this woman. He'd worked all day with her. He'd been snubbed because he'd tallied up the day's inventory wrong and she corrected him after yelling at him for doing it wrong in the first place. He wanted to go upstairs, mindlessly listen to the wireless and fall asleep. Period.

Clearly, she had a different idea.

"Do you have anything to drink?" she asked, opening his ice chest. "Besides Pumpkin Juice, I mean."

George gritted his teeth. "Angelina…" he ground out slowly. "I-"

"You used to like orange juice better."

Surprised, George stumbled over his words. "Er… yeah, I did…" he regathered his wits. "Ange-"

"Why don't you have any? You don't even like Pumpkin Juice."

"You can't just- wait… what? Er… I dunno, it's an acquired taste. Listen-"

"Fred did the grocery shopping, didn't he?" she asked knowingly, her dark eyes looking up at him calmly.

Stunned, George stopped again, staring at her.

She was right. Fred had hated orange juice- and oranges in general with a passion. He even refused to buy orange robes. The first time he'd gone grocery shopping, after they'd just moved in to their new flat, he'd bought pumpkin juice and told George, "_Get used to it mate, I won't have that rubbish lying about."_

George hadn't even thought about not buying it anymore. He'd done it out of habit, the same way he'd set up protective spells around the shop every day three months after the war was over. Habit. Second nature.

_'Do not get sidetracked!'_

"Angelina…" he growled again. "Why. Are. You. Here?"

She looked up at him. "My wireless broke," she said, like it was obvious. "It's Chudley verses the Harpies tonight. Do you think I'd miss that?"

Extremely annoyed, George gave a biting laugh.

"Oh sure Ange," he said sarcastically. "Hell, you don't have to ask. Just barge right in, make yourself at home… insult my cleaning abilities if you will…"

"Thanks," she said, shamelessly as she pulled out some various ingredients from the cooler. "I will."

She did too. Somehow, she ended up on his couch rooting for the Harpies; cheering loudly each time they made a particularly good play and moaning each time they didn't. She managed to somehow create a miniature casserole as she did and George, who hadn't seen his mother in two weeks, had his first real meal since then. With her there, he sat quietly, just watching her, unable to really enjoy himself, his body very rigid. Before the game was over, he fought drowsiness and lost. When he woke up the next morning, the place was cleaner, the wireless was off, and she was gone. Angrily he jumped up from the armchair, groaning at the pain of staying in such an odd sleeping position all night. The blanket that she had put on him fell to the floor and he stomped over it on his way to the cooler. He pulled out the leftovers, grabbed and fork and, still sulking, shoveled them into his mouth, not bothering with a heating charm.

He knew why he was upset, and it wasn't because she had barged in like this. Angelina had always been that way- like a human tornado, she attacked life the way most aurors attacked death eaters. There was nothing weird about her coming over and listening to the game.

What he wasn't comfortable with was the feeling it gave him. After the battle, when he'd come back to their flat-_his_ flat- he realized that he had never been alone once in his entire life. He'd grown up with a large family, went to a school with thousands of people, went through all these years believing that Fred would be there. They'd lived together- and somehow there was this unspoken assumption that since they were born together, they would die together.

He'd been… lonely. Yes- lonely, damn it… the flat was quiet- always so freak'n quiet… and that wasn't how it was supposed to be. There were supposed be explosions of many colors and constant plans and talk of sweets and jokes and gags that would bring mischief makers to their shop demanding to see their work... Fred would take great delight in showing and explaining their schemes and work late into the night, sometimes swearing loudly when the cauldron overflowed or his skin turned a strange shade of lilac.

Fred was dead. And he was quite alone.

And rather than move in with Lee, or even worse, his mother, he'd gritted his teeth and bore it.

Last night had been the first time in ages that he'd felt comfortable sitting in his own house, because he wasn't alone.

He was absolutely furious about it.

* * *

Reviews are appreciated :) Thank you so much for reading my babbles!


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you all for your kind reviews and support~!

* * *

Chapter 3

These Questions we ask Ourselves…

Each day felt like so long, but it was hard to believe that so little time had passed. He'd avoided her a little after that day upstairs until she had yelled at him, asking what his problem was. Knowing he'd sooner die than admit it, he threw up another smile on his face and a wink, hoping she'd forget about it. She did, but she gave him a look that said she wasn't fooled.

George's disapproval never kept her from doing what she wanted when it came to his flat. She'd appear at random times after hours; sometimes just to listen to the wireless, sometimes because she claimed that if she didn't he'd die of starvation. George didn't doubt it; he'd gained a whole five pounds since she started cooking for him. She made bloody fantastic meals. By the end of the next week, she was a regular occurrence, standing at his little stove, pouring over a cookbook with flour dusting her dark cheeks. She'd managed a Newt in potions, and her cooking ability deserved another- he'd never thought there would be another woman in the world who could cook like his mother. The only difference was the clean up. Angelina could cook, but when she was done the kitchen was an absolute disaster. She'd make him sit down at the little table and eat, usually not saying a word, just watching him enjoy it. Then, after his plate was clean she'd grin at him and say, "I did the cooking, and you can do the cleaning," and before he could utter any protest, she'd leave, her footsteps echoing down the stairs.

There was still a spot on the ceiling from when she'd made meat pies.

Every Friday she invited Lee, Alicia, Kate to come over and play cards after the store was closed, a tradition that was started without his permission. Once George had come upstairs to find none other than _Oliver Wood_ sitting on his couch eating some of Angelina's sponge cake.

She was always surprising him, keeping him on his toes. Sometimes he hated what she was doing, forcing him out of his shell, making him live when he needed to be alone. Other times he was thankful, because he was beginning to fear going up the stairs to find no one there- to be all alone again.

He realized that she was doing a lot for him- above and beyond the duty of a friend. He tried to be appreciative. Noting that she drank tea religiously, he'd gone out to a local tea shop and stood in a daze, staring at the 247 flavor options, not knowing there was even so much tea in the world. One kindly old lady helped him pick out three or four different mixed packages with the more popular flavors and he'd left them on the kitchen counter that evening. When she'd marched up the stairs after work and walked to the counter to start dinner she froze for a minute, looking in surprise at the many packages. A warm gentle smile had crossed her face and she'd immediately set some water to boil.

It was hard being around someone else all the time, letting them see the side of him that he'd only ever let Fred see- and the only reason he let Fred see it was because he was his brother and therefore couldn't leave him even if he wanted to. In his shop, around his family and for that one Friday of the week he could pretend to be cheery and adjusted but he couldn't fool Angelina. It frustrated him to no end. Once they'd gotten in a horrible fight about whose turn it was to close the registers. George had finally lost his temper entirely and yelled, "Look I never asked you to be here anyway! God, I wish you'd just disappear!" Then he's slammed the door and ran up the stairs to his apartment. Five minutes later he thought the unthinkable and ran back down them. Seeing the empty shop he raced out into the street to see her standing on the doorstep, changing one of the advertisement charms.

Not knowing what to say, he stood there, panting and just staring at her. Angelina looked at him, and seeing the fear in his eyes gently put her hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay," she said quietly. "I know."

* * *

One day, while they were taking advantage of the lunchtime lull to get organized, she turned to him with a serious expression.

"George, you'll have to close shop tomorrow."

George stared back at her, incomprehensively.

"Why?"

Her expression looked a little too understanding. "Because it's May second," she said softly.

George turned away quickly, trying to cover up his shock by stuffing a few envelopes beneath the desk, feeling a large lump to his throat.

The anniversary of the battle. Dang it all, it had been a whole year ago and he hadn't even thought about it, hadn't even realized…

"I think I'll keep the shop open," he said, hoping she didn't notice how gravely his voice was. "To honor his memory."

He felt her hand clamp on his shoulder and he jumped. Merlin's pants, how did she _do_ that, just appear out of nowhere?!

"You'll do no such thing!" she whispered fiercely. "You know perfectly well it's not for Fred's memory, it's only so you can hide yourself and keep busy." She turned back to her own work, picking up a box full of miniature puffskeins, all making soft mewing sounds.

"I'll pick you up at six am," she called to him as she walked into the back office. "And don't you dare weasel out of it."

"I am a Weasley," he meant to say it jokingly but it came out as a whisper. Biting his lip, not knowing how to feel or think, he slammed the desk drawer shut and hit his finger. He hopped around howling at the pain and she came out, looking scared and then relieved as she waved her wand and cast the pain charm.

"Good grief George," she admonished. "Can't I leave you alone for two minutes?"

* * *

It was six in the morning and Angelina was late. George was sitting on his lumping couch, dressed, coherent (for the most part), and trying not to shake with nervousness. He felt the same way he had before, when he'd taken Katie to the Yule ball. They were mates and had hung out two thousand times before but somehow it was different. He hadn't even thought to ask Angelina what they were doing… where they were going. He didn't think he could go to one of the many memorial services. He didn't think he could stand it.

As he waited, he looked around his flat dazedly. It had been thirty days on the dot since Angelina had started working for him. Twenty three days since she'd forced her way upstairs and started appearing randomly, listening to his wireless.

There were bits of her everywhere, all around him. The kitchen now had all varieties of food in it. On one of the windowsills there was a nice little Venus fly trap she'd picked up randomly somewhere and got for him. While the flat was cleaner than it had ever been there was still a comfortable untidiness to it- a pair of shoes in the corner, a sweater thrown over the arm of one chair, his old broken telescope she'd set up so that he could watch some sort of great space was more than just knickknacks. He couldn't hide himself under the false smiles and the jokes around her- he saw her too much and the act became wearying. After a while he'd dropped it altogether. He'd be down joking with costumers or with whichever family member or friend happened to drop by, and the moment he walked up the stairs the act would fade. She'd always find a way to pull him out of his distant haze, purposely making him angry, or doing something outrageous to try to make him laugh. Sometimes she succeeded, sometimes he would try to glare but still could feel the corners of his mouth twitching as he turned away to hide it.

How had she come to be such a part of his life in such a short amount of time? It was only business, only friendship, only distant. They never talked about anything terribly deep. Yet she kept coming, kept doing it as if it were second nature- as if taking care of him and making sure he had enough daily vitamins was part of her paycheck.

He didn't jump when she appeared quickly and quietly, in the middle of the living room, still dressed in that awful muggle attire. She frowned at him.

"Why the bloody hell are you dressed up so formally? Come on, let's go watch the sunrise."

* * *

Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you for your lovely support and for even considering to read this!

* * *

Chapter 3

Until now, there had only been a shoe.

* * *

It was a lovely little picnic by a lake near her grandparent's house. They watched the sun come up and then she'd magically enlarged a basket from one of her pockets and they'd eaten some cold sausages, and hunks of fresh bread. She magically heat up some tea for herself and pulled out a pint sized carton of orange juice for George. The sun was up entirely and the food was gone before either of them said anything.

"I need to go see my parents at some point today." George said finally. Dread it as he would, he knew that he owed it to them.

Angelina nodded. "Yeah…" she said leaning back on her elbows. "Me too."

There was another minute of silence. Normally such things were very uncommon between them but for some reason, today, George felt his throat closing up.

"I can't believe it's been a year," he said softly.

Angelina gently reached over and set one of her hands on top of his. He didn't stop- he wanted to, but his mouth wouldn't cooperate.

"We talked about it… you know? We talked about what would happen if one of us had died. We talked about it… but I guess it just never sank in for me. I mean, if we could survive the hundreds of faults that went wrong with our inventions… the nosebleeds and boils and explosions… abrasions… why couldn't we survive a war? Why not?"

"You did survive George." Angelina told him.

He didn't' seem to hear her. Annoyed she sat up and shifted until she was right in front of him.

"George…" she said. "Listen…" she took a breath and let it out. "It's… gonna be okay, you know?"

George looked up at her. "I know," he whispered. And he did. After all, the war was over. Even if Fred had known that he was going to die, he would have gone to fight anyway. He still would have wanted to contribute, to try to fight and take down as many death eaters as possible. He was a Gryffindor after all.

_'But I'm a Gryffindor too…_' George thought suddenly. '_This way I've been living… it's not brave… it's not brave at all…'_

Angelina's face still hovered inches away from his own, looking worried. George felt suddenly worried.

"Angelina…" he whispered. "I-I'm really sorry-"

That was when it happened. For some reason he couldn't even begin to fathom, for some reason he couldn't begin to explain, Angelina leaned forward and kissed him.

It wasn't long and romantic, nor was it short and quick. It was just short enough to be a question and just long enough to know what the question was. George was frozen, and when she opened her eyes again she saw how incredibly surprised he looked. None the less she didn't allow herself to become frightened. After all, she was a Gryffindor too.

"George…" Angelina said steadily, seriously. "I'm in love with you."

He stared back at her.

Angelina laughed nervously. "You could… say something…"

George swallowed. Looking anywhere but at her face, he jumped up. Angelina jumped up too, grabbing the front of his coat.

"George… look. I've been hanging out with you now for a month. I've never made you talk about anything. Even when you talk about Fred you say it so casually, it's like he's the elephant in the room that we talk about casually without actually acknowledging that it's a problem."

This annoyed him. "He's not a problem-"

"He is and you know it!" Angelina snapped. "He's the reason you won't let yourself move on! It's okay that you miss him! I miss him too-"

"You love him!" George yelled suddenly, surprising her so much she let go of his coat. "You don't love _me_, you love _him_! I'm just… just…" he turned away, his face contorting. "I'm a _shoe_, damn it!"

This stopped her in her tracks and she blinked. After a moment, she shook her head. "George… I don't follow…"

"I'm a shoe!" George said, sitting down again, clapping his hands on his head. "Don't you get it? I came in a pair! We were good as a pair but if you loose one it's useless without the other, no one _wants_ a right shoe without the left, no one _needs_ one shoe without the other…"

If he would have looked at her he would have seen how furious she was. As such she fell on her knees and grabbed him by his shirt lapels.

"… you absolute MORON!" she fairly screamed. "Haven't you been listening?! Didn't I just tell you-"

"You're Fred's girl-"

"I wasn't in love with Fred!" she said angrily. "I mean, yes I _liked_ him… I had a huge crush on him, I went to the Yule Ball with him… but nothing became of it! We left school and went our separate ways. Don't insult me and tell me I like you just because you look like Fred Weasley! You may share the same sense of humor but that's where the similarities end!"

Then, to his complete astonishment, she leaned forward again and kissed him again, more passionately than before breaking it off, pushing him back so he fell onto the grass. She stood up and looked down at him; fear, sadness and anger mixed across her face.

"You're George Weasley," she said finally. "You like orange juice, your favorite color is neon green. You like cantaloupe with salt and your favorite singer is Craig Dragonian. You refuse to pick up your socks and you get irrational and angry when people try to help you. On the other hand, even when you're hurting you try to smile and make the people around you laugh. You're selfless like that," she trailed off. With a soft laugh that sounded more like a sob, she turned, walked a few feet away. George swallowed. Slowly he stood up, his back to her.

"Angelina…" he turned to face her.

She wasn't there. She had disappeared, soundlessly as always. Feeling as though his heart was frozen, he stared off into the distance, wondering what had become of his life… wondering if she had meant what she said.

Wondering…

Wondering.

* * *

She didn't come back to work. After a month of having someone look after him, George knew he needed some help. Ron had gaped at him for nearly five minutes after he asked, his ears turning scarlet, but in the end he was very pleased about it. It was strange having him around the shop, but George found that he got used to it, and even appreciated it. He may have picked on Ron excessively, but let's face it… he was one of the Weasley twins. At one time or another, he had picked on practically everyone. Besides, George was rather fond of his ignorant-yet loyal brother, (not that he'd ever admit it). Not to mention that with Ron minding the shop, he could finally do something he'd been avoiding for months.

Standing upstairs he stood outside Fred's room, debating whether he should enter. He hadn't gone in it for a year… not for ages. The first time he'd entered the flat, after the battle, he'd taken everything around the house that had been or reminded him of his brother and thrown it into the room, locking the door.

Now he found himself unlocking it and walking inside.

A thick layer of dust covered everything, the sunlight pouring through the window making everything glow iridescently. Carefully, the first born twin stepped over his brother's dirty clothes, shoes, half eaten apples and unmentionables.

After clearing a spot on the bed for himself, he sat down and looked at it all. To his surprise, he didn't feel overwhelmed or angry… he didn't really feel anything. Taking out his wand, he vanished the dirt and filth. With another flick of his wand the shoes walked across the room, putting themselves in their closet, the clothes jumped into the basket and books floated back onto their shelves. Within seconds the room was clean.

Standing up, he went over to the corner where a large cauldron stood, various ingredients on the table beside it, ready to be mixed and made into mischievous products. A tablet was laying open, and Fred's familiar scribble was there, spelling out several ideas, with a few cross outs and question marks. George picked it up and paged through.

_Wide awake- something that liquefies the eyes, so a person doesn't have to close them to sleep- tap toes calendar, for people who are always late or blokes who always forget important dates- levitating sherbet balls, try to figure out recipe and come up with something better for… floating puffskeins?_

George continued to page through. Some of the ideas were bad- very bad. Some of them he found himself nodding to. He flipped another page and stopped in surprise.

A picture had been taped to the inside. It was of their Gryffindor Quittich team the year they had won the cup, Oliver, the girls and Harry were there, screaming and jumping up and down, their mouths silently moving but saying, "We won! We won!" He and Fred appeared to be dancing, their arms around each other's shoulders, laughing and shouting themselves hoarse.

Fred's face looked so happy. George remembered that smile… remembered how it had been there, even when his heart had stopped beating. Slowly he reached out and flipped the picture over.

Instead of a name or date, there was just another invention idea on the back. Apparently Fred had come up with it and didn't have a spare bit of parchment. George smiled a little at the thought, and even more when he realized the idea he was holding.

Carefully, he started a fire underneath the cauldron, filling it with water and starting to assemble ingredients. He suddenly felt more energetic and more creative than he had in months. Fred had always been the better at coming up with ideas, but he had always been better at figuring out how to make them without blowing something up.

The pain was still there. It was Fred's room. It was Fred's notebook. But in that moment, George had never felt more alive.

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R&R

Last chapter may take a bit longer. :)


	5. Chapter 5

Okay people, last chapter. WAIT! DON'T SCROLL DOWN! READ THIS!!!

Here's the deal. I actually wrote the last four chapters over the summer. I didn't write the end because it intimadated me. Soooo here it is much much later and I think it sounds very different from the style of the rest... which may be a bad thing. Sooo... if it is too corny or cheesy or whatever... tell me and I'll see what I can do.

Thank you for reading this story! I enjoyed all your kind reviews and was delighted to see the Angelina/George fans out there!

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Chapter 5

The End of the World as we know it

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Another month passed before he saw her; this time at Lee's birthday party. It was being held at his radio head, where he still produced his own form of entertainment for the masses. Merlin's Beard, a new band that had just released their first record, was playing loudly and obnoxiously. George found himself grinning as Lee sang along, dancing on the cardboard that had been set up in the middle of the dance floor.

That was when he saw her. Angelina… beautiful Angelina, her skin darkened by the summer sun, looking more beautiful then ever as she stood to the side, sipping her drink and looking amused at Lee's horrible antics. George felt his heart skip a beat.

He tried to be cool and stealthy like she was whenever she entered a room and failed, somehow tripping on the corner leg of the table and having to flail his arms out like an octopus to keep from falling- which of course he did anyway- right at her feet. Without even looking up to see her expression, he cleared his throat, feeling his face burn.

"Hello Angelina!" he said cheerfully and miserably. "As you can see… I have finally fallen for you."

Katie and Alicia laughed a bit, obviously thinking it to be some sort of joke. However Angelina looked at him very strangely. She set her drink on the counter and reached out a hand to help him up.

George really didn't need the help. But he took her hand anyway, holding on to it a bit more than necessary. He suddenly realized that he had no idea what to say at all… somehow he had never actually needed to say anything before, Angelina had always sort of beat him to the chase, knowing what he was thinking even when he didn't know what he was thinking (an extremely weird and at times annoying trait about her.) He stared at her wordlessly. Hearing the giggles of the others didn't help either, he could feel his face turning as red as his hair. He immediately began trying to communicate with her telepathically.

'_Please ask me to go for a walk or something… please please please…'_

Angelina sighed. She raised an eyebrow at him. "George… are you going to ask me to dance or what?"

George blinked.

It hadn't exactly been what he'd planned… but…

"Sure." He cleared his throat.

A smile quirked the corner of her lips, "…well?"

"Oh. OH!" George realized. He grabbed her hand and led her to the dance mat.

Lee, who had been doing some sort of strange ape like movement, grinned when he saw them. He moved over, jostling a few people and continued his aberrant dance.

George knew from past experience that his dancing wasn't so great either. Sure he had learned how to dance a little for the Yule ball, but that was a few years ago and besides that he and Fred could pull anything off and people would think it was funny.

… Come to think of it…what was it that Fred had said after he'd tripped over his own shoelace and managed to push not only Angelina, but also two innocent bystanders on the floor?

Oh… that's right. He had looked at them for a moment, sheepishly. Then he had adopted a brave face, placed his foot on Angelina's hip, raised his fist in the air and declared, "I claim this land… for _Brittan_!"

And George had quickly caught on and placed his foot on top of Fred's.

"No, Scotland!"

"England!"

Finally it was Katie who helped poor Angelina to her feet but apart from a slight annoyance she had seemed more amused than anything.

Those were the days.

"Uh… George I'm no expert in these things but I think generally dancing requires some sort of movement."

George realized that in his daze he had suddenly stopped moving and had stood immobile. He shook his head.

"Sorry," he muttered. He reached out to take her hand and then changed his mind. "Look, do you want to go for a walk? I'm not in the sorts for this today."

Angelina didn't answer but took his hand and led him off the dance floor. Once she was outside the crowd, and the knowing looks of their friends she let go and turned to face him. She must have been waiting for some sort of directions so he inclined his head towards the woods and they began there in a slow pace.

He'd expected to feel nervous again. He'd expected to be concerned about what he would say when the time came and how to say and it and praying that he didn't make a bloody fool of himself… _again_…

And yet he rather enjoyed the silent companionship. It was quite comfortable really.

But Angelina really wasn't the silent type of person.

"How's the shop coming?" she asked suddenly.

George looked at her. There was something about her eyes, something that looked almost wary. He immediately felt guilty. Here he was concerned about his own situation while Angelina must be feeling awkward as hell…

"Good," he bit his tongue, annoyed with his answer. "No… I mean… it's great you know? Ron's pretty good at business… so long as you don't tell him. Head swells right up…. Not as bad as Percy though-" Oh great he was rambling.

Angelina looked thoughtful. He twisted a finger around one of her curls. "Mmmhn. I saw the advertising for your new line of products."

George looked at her closely.

"I thought they were brilliant."

He flushed to the tips of his ears. Angelina laughed quietly. She turned away and looked over the fields and into the distance.

"Well I have to say… you did it," she said quietly and with obvious pride in her voice. "I was worried about you. 'Thought you might get worse… go back to your pumpkin-juice-dirty-socks-grouchy old ways… but you're different than before." She made a small circular gesture with her hands, trying to describe it. "You're more… complete."

George knew he should feel flattered but he felt inclined to be truthful. "I don't think that's really right," he told her as they continued walking. "I mean… I know that I'm not miserable any more. But I'm still not… I still don't feel…" he was getting frustrated. "…I just… I just don't think I'll ever be…"

Angelina stopped. George stumbled a bit, surprised.

"Is that what you're so upset about?" she looked at him in amazement. "George… is that what you think everyone wants? You to be the same as before? How could we possibly want that when none of us will ever be the same either?" she stepped up to him, looking at him in obvious fondness. "That's what it _is_ to loose someone you truly love. Even with time, you will never ever get _over_ it. You just get… _used_ to it."

George swallowed. He had never really thought of it that way. For some reason he always assumed that after a certain point, you were not permitted to miss someone anymore. At some point, you're not supposed to experience any pain anymore… and if you do, something must be wrong.

But… if what she said was true… was it okay to be upset? He could get used to fact Fred was dead- he _was_ used to the fact that his brother was dead. For a long time, he hadn't been. In fact, months after the event he would sit in his apartment alone and still expected that Fred would come in the door, raving about some new product or telling him about a joke he'd just heard from Tom the barman. Even at Fred's funeral he'd looked at the casket and was positive that Fred was going to sit up and shock them all. It would be a great prank… people would talk about it for months…

It didn't happen.

George could never get over what _could_ have been. He would never get over thinking… wondering what his life would have been like if Fred hadn't died.

And that was… okay?

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed he reached out one arm and pulled her into a slightly awkward hug. She was a bit startled, but she regained her balance and carefully placed her slim arms around his back. For a moment he trembled and heaved, trying to gain control. When he was sure he wouldn't cry, he leaned down, his lips touching her ear.

"Thanks," he whispered.

"Anytime," she answered.

They stayed like that, holding each other.

George cleared his throat. "Angelina?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did," she said, a definite hint of amusement in her voice. "But go on."

His palms immediately began to sweat. He cleared his throat again.

She laughed. George flushed.

"You already know what I'm going to ask, don't you?"

She leaned back and looked up in his face. Her dark eyes twinkled.

"Ask me anyway," she commanded.

He bit his lip, turning his face to try to hide his embarrassment and also to keep from smiling.

"It's been… you know, a month."

He could sense her impatience. He had to restrain himself from going even slower just to annoy her.

"Are you still in love with me?"

Silence. He dared to look at her and saw her mouth hanging open. Before he could even inquire she beat her head against his chest, as if he were a wall in which to take out frustration.

"Uh… Angelina…"

"George!" she yelled, looked peeved as she pushed away from him. "Are you some sort of idiot?"

He was completely bewildered. "I-"

"Do you honestly think I'm the type of girl who would just forget about the person she is in love with?"

George began to feel ill-tempered. "Well how was I supposed to know?" he snapped. "I mean, after all it only took you a month to fall in love, seems logical it would take a month to fall out-"

"Git!" she exclaimed, balling her hands into fists. "You act as if I just met you or something! I've known you for seven years and I've _always_ liked you!" She snorted. _Loving you_ wasn't really that difficult!"

George felt his anger at her irrational behavior fade away.

He gazed at her fists and then at the fire in her eyes. She was. She honestly believed that. She, Angelina Johnson, who had entered his life so unexpectedly found it easy to fall in love with him! _Easy_?!

"I…" George swallowed. "Look don't hit me again alright? It's not that I'm saying you're disloyal. I know you're loyal. It's just…" he fumbled around, trying to find the real explanation. "I really… I just really wasn't that loveable when you came, you know?"

The furious look faded away. Her hands fell to her side. She smiled. Laughed.

"You can say that again! And half the time you weren't even trying to be," she tipped her head. "But maybe that's the reason I was so determined to help you. You know, we're both to stubborn for our own good.... and," she looked pensive. "You really didn't want to be that way. You just didn't know how else to act. If you couldn't fool people by being happy… what could you do?"

This conversation was going in circles, it was heading back to the way things had been. He refused to go there again. He searched for the words…

"I love you too," George exclaimed finally in a completely sporadic and random blurt.

…Okay, whatever he had planned to say…that had not exactly been it…

She looked amazed though. Whether it was the sudden outburst or the proclamation itself he didn't know. He plowed on, "I mean, I know we're both horribly stubborn and I can't be funny all the time… I do leave my socks everywhere and I _don't_ like your shepherd pie as much as my mums. I know we'll fight, and you'll probably win and I'll sulk and I'm sorry but I really-"

Out of the goodness of her heart, Angelina cut him off by stepping forward and kissing him. Whatever other babbles he had wanted to tell her were quickly forgotten. Even after the kiss had ended they stood quietly, staring at each other. George was struck at how strange it was that her head fit so perfectly in the crook of his shoulder…

"I-" he fumbled. "Ange… I…" he swallowed. "This won't be easy."

There was a short snort which she tried to muffle into his shirt.

"That's probably true," she agreed wryly, but with humor. "But that your decision. It's not my fault I don't plan on picking up your socks my entire life."

George laughed and relief bubbled up through his chest. How was it that she always knew the right thing to say?

What would happen in the future… it really didn't matter. It was the here and now George was concerned about.

She would become part of his life again. She would cook and he would clean up. She would complain about his socks and he would grumble back. Still, he hoped (and believed) that at some point, they would reach an agreement.

For now, George was content. He'd discovered he wasn't really a shoe at all… actually he was more like a glove.

He'd certainly found his match.

THE END


End file.
